The Fifth Year Review
by Authoressinhiding
Summary: When an author has spent five years writing LotR fanfiction, she is summoned before the Panel to be judged.   Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: AiH surrenders all owning/borrowing rights to the rich, powerful people who actually own them. **

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Jennifer Melissa Ariel Raina Yolanda Southwood hit the "create story" button with her mouse, giggling in delight. Story 100 was posted!

"Your time's up."

Jennifer nearly fell out of her chair in shock. That was a man's voice! Men weren't supposed to be in her bedroom – stupid parental rules. Swiveling around on her computer chair, the eighteen-year-old almost fainted at the sight of her visitor. He wasn't just a man, he was a very handsome man, tall and broad-shouldered with raven black hair and piercing dark eyes. The man's clothes would once have been considered fine, but they were dirty, worn, and stained with travel and what looked ominously like dried blood. He held an unsheathed sword in one hand and clutched a large, splintered drinking horn in the other.

"Your time is up," the man repeated in a very bored tone.

"Baldur?" Jennifer Melissa Ariel Raina Yolanda Southwood squeaked, standing up quickly and trying to fix her old T-shirt and ratty jean shorts into something sexy. She _knew_ she should have taken a shower before writing. "Are you here to take me to Valhalla?"

"No."

"Oh! Then you must be Aragorn or one of the fair sons of Elrond."

"I'm Boromir," growled the eldest son of Denethor. He was getting rather sick of being taken for Aragorn every time he made one of these calls. "And you're Jennifer Southwood."

"How do you know my name?" The teenager's little heart started going all pitter-pat.

Boromir ignored the question. "Come with me."

"Okay." Jennifer tittered. Walking over to Boromir, she tried to take the hand that wasn't holding the sword. "Nice drinking horn."

With a sigh, Boromir tucked the horn into his belt, a golden, flowered affair. "It's not a drinking horn. This is the horn of Gondor."

Jennifer giggled and snatched his now free hand. "I'm sure it is. You can show me later."

For a moment Boromir struggled with the urge to impale or behead her right then and there. But that wasn't his decision to make. Swallowing his homicidal impulses, he murmured a single word in an ancient language. There came a blinding flash of light, and they were gone.

The two reappeared in a small room of dark stone. At the front of the room was a dais where three people sat. In the middle was a dark-haired woman with a gentle face and intelligent eyes. To her right sat an older man. His hair, though still mostly gold, was tinged here and there with silver. On her left was a thin figure whose eyes smoldered with an angry fire. The three of them stared down at Boromir and the girl. They had been waiting for this.

Boromir pushed Jennifer into a lone chair set in the center of the room. He turned to face the woman on the dais. "Hello, Mother."

Finduilas smiled at her eldest son. "Hello, darling. If you'll just take your place, I think we're ready to proceed. Théoden?"

"I've got the notes all here." The aged king pulled a thick file folder out of his briefcase and set it on the table.

"Very good. Fëanor?"

The dark elf spat something in Quenya. Finduilas nodded. She gestured to Boromir, who stood behind Jennifer's chair, sword in hand.

"The Five-Year Review of Jennifer Melissa Ariel Raina Yolanda Southwood is now begun," Finduilas announced. Théoden handed her a piece of paper. "Aha. Thank you. Author stats: 100 stories written, a total of two million words archived. Genres the author has written for: Romance, Action/Adventure, Romance, Humor, Romance, Angst, and Romance. Penname: LadyofMirkwood."

Fëanor interrupted, "Oh, please. Not even in your wildest daydreams, you small, insignificant, greasy-looking human. No elf – not even our lesser kindred who dwell in Mirkwood – would _ever_ look at you twice, let alone fall in love with you."

Jennifer was an empowered eighteen-year-old. She was not about to let some elf she'd never even heard of put her down. "Excuse you, but what is this all about? Five-Year Review? Who the heck are you people, and what do you want form me?"

"It looks like some introductions are in order. Boromir?"

"I tried, Mother. I really tried." Boromir rolled his eyes. Sheathing his sword, he went to stand in front of Jennifer. I'm Boromir, remember?"

"Oh, yeah! Hottie Faramir's less-hott older brother. Aren't you supposed to have red hair?"

"No." Boromir replied with extreme patience. "My hair has always been and will always be dark. Anyway, this is my mother Finduilas, Lady of Gondor, Théoden, King of Rohan, and Fëanor."

"Ohhh. You mean the dead lady that Farrie looks like and the old guy who needed Aragorn to protect him. But who's this Fey guy?"

"Only the most important, most intelligent, most skilled elf to ever have been created by Eru," bellowed Fëanor, standing on his chair and dancing with rage. He hadn't much like the "fey" comment.

"Or the most conceited. Fëanor, sit down!" Finduilas grabbed the hem of the elf's tunic and yanked him back into his chair. "Every _Lord of the Rings_ fanfiction writer ho makes it five years is brought before us, the Panel, and must submit to a Review of their work, their writing style, and their personal life."

"My personal life?" gasped Jennifer. "Who gave you permission to do this?"

"Mandos took pity on the poor suffering heroes of the War of the Ring and appointed us as judges to alleviate their pain." Fëanor's sarcasm should have been legendary. "And what about my pain? Here I am, stuck listening to immature, hormonally-crazed humans trying to defend their most abominable habit of publishing their trite, badly written fantasies online."

"From what the other elves and the Maiar say, you deserve it," commented Théoden. "And if you ask Túrin" –

"Don't you dare mention that smarmy mortal's name," snarled Fëanor.

Théoden continued, unperturbed, "Túrin says that it is really all your fault, the fall of the Noldorin and the Kin-Slayings and the battles with Melkor – I mean Morgoth," he added hastily as smoke started emanating from Fëanor's ears. "Even the War of the Ring."

"Is the weird elf okay?" Jennifer asked Boromir. "He seems kinda upset."

"Fëanor has anger issues," Boromir explained, making the greatest understatement of the Second, Third, and Fourth Ages of Middle-earth.

"Well, I've never heard of him, so he can't be that important or great or whatever he thinks he is."

That was it. Fëanor screamed in fury and leapt off the dais. He charged Jennifer. The fanfic author shrieked and fled. As Fëanor chased her around the room, his hair burst into flames. Although the girl was sprinting as fast as she could, her short legs were no match for the elf. Fëanor caught up with her and laid a hand on her shoulder. Flickering red fire ran down his arm onto the writer. She cried out, and then all that remained of Jennifer Melissa Ariel Raina Yolanda Southwood was a pile of smoking ashes.

"Not again!" Finduilas exclaimed in distress. "Fëanor, that's the third one today!"

Fëanor straightened his tunic and rejoined the others on the dais. "You know she deserved it."

Théoden tried in vain to hide a smile. Boromir looked around, bored again. "Who's next?"

Finduilas sighed. "I don't know why I bother. We never get through these Five-Year Reviews without someone exploding or suffocating or being decapitated unless the author in question has read _The Silmarillion_."

Fëanor smirked.

"Who's next, Mother?" her son asked again.

The former Lady of Gondor checked her list. "Emily Elizabeth Breckenridge, nineteen. She lives in northern Michigan. Her penname is EmmyElfFriend250."

"I'll be back soon," Boromir called as he disappeared from the room in a cloud of smoke. Maybe this one would actually get his name right.

_Fin._

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_**A/N: If you haven't noticed, dear readers, today is my fifth year anniversary on , and I felt prompted to do something special. Now, review?**


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